Tag: Medium

A Change Had To Come

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Moving: Jernee Timid Loadholt is standing in the middle of it all while I pack up and stack boxes. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I had grown complacent; my time
to change and maneuver into a new
space almost eluded me.
Somehow, I found the strength
to push through fear and allow
excitement to take over.

When you’ve spent five years
in one space, you’re going to do
one of three things: remain in that
space with no intention to move,
move away from that space to find
another that will be much better, or
do something more to that space
in order for it to continue to feel
like home.

I decided it was time to move.
We’d given The Powers That Be enough
chances to right their wrongs of
our conditions and I won’t stand
for it any longer.
I prayed. I stood steadfast on my word.
I watched God work.

And now, I move.

I am fervent action in motion risking
it all for the betterment of my mind,
heart, body, and soul.
And in tow, is my senior dog who
is curious about the things
shifting in real-time before her eyes.

We are downsizing from two bedrooms
and two baths to one bedroom and
one and one-half bath — one never knows
the amount of junk one has until it
is all showing its teeth at you
while you pack it up and
put it in out-of-reach spots. . .

Cautious not to get bitten during
the process.

I am tired — no, an understatement; I am
exhausted. My body aches in places
I did not know
aches could exist, and there is still
more to do.
But I am ready.

The most important part of this
experience is that I recognize if
I opt to stay here for another year,
more pieces of me will deteriorate
into nothingness, and I intend to
keep this year easier on the ME
I am becoming instead of harder.

I claim fewer struggles.
I claim happier moments.
I claim peaceful rest.
I claim growth.
I claim pure love.

And it all starts here
and now with a change
so subtle yet overpowering,
my soul knows its power.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

The moving day is Thursday, August 24, 2023. I’d forgotten how much of a major task it is to move and I am being reminded of it every single day. I am attempting to see the joys of it as well as the higher possibility of sheer happiness from it, too. Thank you for reading.

The Stripping Away of Bare Bones

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Musical Selection: The Isley Brothers|Voyage to Atlantis

A Collaborative Effort with BJ Dawson

Photo by Gioele Fazzeri on Unsplash

We, the oppressed are still chained — still
bound to the walls of the majority.
If we breathe the wrong way, a shot to
the lungs while we’re blinking could be
our demise.
Yet . . . they tell us we are free.
If we were free, we’d be able to roam
the streets in our skin — black as night,
beautiful as a half-moon, without fear.

They plummet in our direction — bullets with
no names, claiming our souls one at 
a time. And if that’s not enough, we are being
stripped of our bones while we’re already 
bare — naked as a newborn, cooing in 
the dark, crying to be held — yearning to be loved.
The Powers That Be see no wrong in their ways.
They’re going about business as usual 
while we pull at the air disappearing 
from our sight.

One by one, rights are being struck down — laws
put in place to keep us in place, and pockets
are being laced with almighty dollars to keep
the loud ones quiet. 
Soon we will be wombless, wounded, wound up,
and worked into the plan they have
to be rid of us . . . 
And then, what?

And then, nothing.
Split from the bone,
the many, now the one
lone splinter flees this madness
seeking silence, solace, solitude;
a peace, apart from malicious eyes;
the swarming hornets of untended,
weaponized trauma,
wielding perverse justice as
both heirloom and cudgel,
endlessly frustrated by
never striking flush with it.

They lash out in all directions — targeting
the Other with retribution — both of the
self-proclaimed divine and the
self-indulgent, profane type — never pausing
long enough to reflect, to witness that
there is no They, nor is there an Other;
there is, has been, and will only ever be Us.
Many claim to follow someone named Jesus,
who tried telling us exactly this
before being killed for it.

We, the oppressed are still chained — still
bound by rusted yoke of crumbling society
failing to see how the tie that binds also limits
their own roaming; existentially tragic
how we diminish our horizons
by diminishing fractions of life
over the whole,
all while labeling this farce Justice.

But someone says, “Have faith.
Have hope. Remain open to 
the possibilities of change,” and
we all stand on tired feet, shuffling
to distant places, wondering when
that “Change” will ever come.

©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt and Barry Dawson Jr., IV

This isn’t our first rodeo. We’ve been collaborating with one another since the early 2000s. Here are a couple of our other pieces. Thank you for reading.

The Isley Brothers, Voyage to Atlantis via YouTube

©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt and Barry Dawson, Jr., IV originally published in A Cornered Gurl

Two more of our collaborations:

Dead Roses & Understanding the Power of “No”

Edward Parker

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Flash Fiction

Photo by camilo jimenez on Unsplash

Ed tossed the remote control to the far right end of the couch after flipping channels for the twentieth time. He slid back in his reclining massage chair, pressed the button to activate the slow pulse on his lumbar spine, and sank into the peacefulness of the night.

Sadie had been gone since Tuesday, and it was Friday. She decided to visit her big sister, Sweetie. She hadn’t seen her in four years.

The WWE’s intro sounded throughout the entire living room. He blinked his eyes a few times to keep from falling asleep. Although he never missed an episode, he struggled tonight to stay awake.

Working the second shift at the power plant was starting to wear on his middle-aged bones. Years ago, he could pull a double, parade around town until 3 in the morning, and still wake up to get another day going at work.

Those days are long gone now. Everything hurts. Even his fingernails. But money’s got to be made.

He silently berated himself for tossing the remote to the far right of the couch. The chair had gotten comfortable and he didn’t want to get up.

He smacked his weary lips, placed two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for his oldest child to come downstairs.

The young one appeared; doe-eyed and slightly aggravated.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Edward Sloane Parker, Jr., reach on over there on that couch and get your daddy the remote control, will you.”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement — a cool command. Ed, Jr. shuffled past his dad, leaned over hastily, scooped up the remote, and tossed it in his dad’s lap.

“That it?”

“Yeah, son. That’ll do me.”

The night air crept into the cracks of their old Victorian home, Ed settled into the grip of the reclining massage chair, pressed the volume up button on the remote, and closed his eyes.

“I’ll just rest them for a few. I won’t even miss the main event,” he whispered to the thin air.

When Ed woke up, the sun was beaming down on his beady eyes and the kids were racing downstairs to the kitchen to make breakfast.

He missed the main event. He missed the whole damn show.

Originally published in Hinged.press via Medium.

Writers: A Challenge

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I’m posting this here as well, as I typically do with ACG challenges.

5 Words: Tell me what you’re grateful for

Photo by Sir Manuel on Unsplash

Hello, beautiful people! Welcome to the fourth challenge since A Cornered Gurl’s relaunch. What do I have in store for you for this challenge? Ah, a sharing of just how grateful we are, even in the midst of this turmoil and grief and age of endless bad news . . . there are still things for which to be grateful.

And how will we do this? Oh, you beautiful human beings, you . . . we will express ourselves by using 5 words only.

Grateful: the definition

adjective
1. warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful:
2. expressing or actuated by gratitude:
3. pleasing to the mind or senses; agreeable; welcome:

— Dictionary.com

The challenge: Writers will share something (or some things) for which they are grateful. It can be anyone and anything, just describe it poetically — in verse by using 5 words only. Are you up for this challenge?

Note: This is a challenge — a challenge in brevity. Please do not submit a series of 5-word grateful responses to me in one post. Think outside the box, people. Use 5 words only in one set.

An example:

Nature’s kiss gives
me hope.

Let’s do what we know how to do best, beautiful people!

•Request to be added as a writer by emailing me at acorneredgurl[AT]gmail[DOT]com with “Please Add Me” as the subject line and please include the link to your Medium profile.

Don’t want to be a writer in A Cornered Gurl — simply comment with your response in this challenge post, or create your own post to your profile or in another publication, however, please use the tags, “Challenge” and “Grateful.”

The challenge will run from Friday, July 07, 2023, until 6:00 PM Monday, July 17, 2023 (with publishing days as Friday, Sunday, and Monday based on ACG’s publishing schedule). Please have “5 Words: Tell me what you’re grateful for” as the subtitle for your submission. CHALLENGE SUBMISSION BEGINS NOW!

It’s time to use our creative minds and share something or some things for which we are grateful; remember, use only 5 words!

Bring it, beautiful people!

A Cornered Gurl Guidelines: Instagram

Originally published as a newsletter in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

We Are. We Are Not. We Cannot Be.

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An audio-revised free verse poem

Photo by ziphaus on Unsplash
We Are. We Are Not. We Cannot Be.

I watched as you burned sage,
cleansing your home of another
breakup,
burying a relationship you thought
would not live up to its
potential,

You were right.

In the brisk air of the hallway,
the smoke led itself down an
uneven path, one I’ve often
taken into the road of you. 
thirsts forever unquenched.
who you are to everyone 
else will never be
who you are to me, and only
we know the . . .

Truth.

It’s often those who are clever
who bark up trees with no
grip to console their feverish minds,
nipping at pastimes, trying
to pick up where they left off,
leaving the accolades of the
good ole days in raggedy
trashcans, unsure of how to
dispose of each

One.

Didn’t you find me in
your reflection standing behind
years of torture yet holding
every memory we made over
your head as a reminder of
how insouciant you are?
belligerent in shaky armor,
a world of “No, thank you” and
“Please, leave me alone”
lingers on the tip of 
your tongue . . .

We Are. We Are Not. We Cannot Be.

©2017 & 2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Fathers, You Are Loved.

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A free verse poem

Photo by Humphrey Muleba on Unsplash

And we may whisper
it from our pursed lips
on a rainy day while the
TV plays cartoons in
the background; “noise to
distract us from ourselves,”
only to be focused on you.

We haven’t forgotten. 
We assure you. 
We know how your strong
arms can lift us
beyond the stars.

We remember the tightness
of your embrace.
We can pinpoint the moment
you raged toward “21 questions”
when we brought some
new date home.

You are a young girl’s
first love.
You are a young boy’s
first hero.
You are the Boogeyman’s
Hitman for the little
ones who cry and coo
in their dark rooms.

It is imperative that you know
our lips will form to shape
the words, “Thank you” 
and our hearts will push
out three others; “I love you”,
as you sit back in your
favorite chair to soak
up the newness of another day
the world nearly ignores.

But please don’t forget,
we know how important you
are. We aren’t afraid
to show you. 
You are the present
a child waits to open
last.

Happy Father’s Day!

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.